Old Magic
by Tricota
Summary: After an especially hard summer Harry is not casting any spells.


Story notes:

This is my take at a roundabout way of letting Snape find out about Umbdrigde's punishment. I've enjoyed vey much writing it, I hope you like it at least half at much.

* * *

Most of the neighbors had had their suspicions, some even had first hand information, but it was such a big thing to accuse someone of, and besides: what if they were wrong?

The Dursdleys seem like such nice people…

So as it usually happens, no one did anything—or, or more fairly they _did_. They just didn't do enough.

They did the same things anyone does for that cute little kitten that's been left in the park.

To the kitten they kept some food and milk in a I-wont-miss cup, and to the boy the saved a smile, a crayon or two when he was little, a pair of old snickers now and then, the opportunity to weed their garden for more money they would usually pay, a few pitting glances across the years, and all along plenty of blind eyes to the telling bruises and swollen lips.

What they didn't do was call the authorities. For neither.

"Did you heard, dear? The lad: Harry –Petunia's nephew? Yes, the boy with that hair, well, It seems he has ran away! Patti told me that Penny's older heard some yelling about him running away.

Good for him I say, poor love, always looking so lost, but ready to help all the same; what?

oh, yes, Brutus? I heard that too, but my Tommy once had a girlfriend that worked there as a psychiatry and I wanted to send him some of my homemade cookies that he loved so much, but there was no Harry—oh, what was his last name? Porter?..."

Petunia lifted her nose even higher and just passed right between the two as if she hadn't a care in the world, and as far as she knew, she didn't.

All was good in her life. Dudley had gotten good grades in all but a subject or two, Vernon was about the get a car that was even more expensive that the Thompson's, her roses might be looking a little under the weather and the weather itself wasn't agreeing with her hair, but those were little things, and so what if Harry had run away? It wasn't her fault, he was a big boy now. She had done all she could for him, in spite of it all, she had seen to his studies, he had been fed and clothed and she had kept her word: she took him in.

She walked a little faster to get away of the dark thoughts.

She took him in.

Moreover, if after a whole month she hadn't heard a word from that other world, chances were he was with _them_.

It wouldn't be the first time he took out like that, but it would be the last.

Dear Vernon was furious, and rightly so, the boy had said some truly nasty things that night, upsetting poor Vernon and putting him off his food, all with untruth accusations and outrageous _lies –_ , just the thought of it made her want to slap him again. They had done all they could. They had had to use a hard hand with him but he still wouldn't learn, the half witted boy!.

She walked even faster, strident and sure, slapping her shoes against the sidewalk, ready to burn off some frustration, but the memories were persistent ones and in no time were right beside her again.

They had tried to show him the ways of polite society but he just kept on making up stories about fairies -of all things fairies! - on the garden, her harden for the Lord's name!, and telling tales in school about flying bikes and giant people.

"Imagination" the teacher told them, but they knew better.

They took him to the Father of the church and he told them all her fears had been true, she had a good instinct he had said. The boy was possessed, and it was up to them to free him.

"This particular demon" the Father had told them "feeds on our young ones, and as many of his kind; is afraid of the light," the cupboard was the solution "pain" Vernon had taken a deep breath and said he would do it "hunger" with a look at her brave husband she nodded taking up the task "and above all, our Lord."

They had paid a small fortune out of the boy's stipend for the Father to help them, and in the following years, he taught them how to keep the monster at bay, but the monster wouldn't leave the boy's body. He would still conjure toys for himself, grow his hair back, talk to things in the dark.

"Kinship" the priest had called it, and knowing Harry's roots Petunia had wholeheartedly agreed.

From time to time she could still see that _thing_ lurking deep in Harry's eyes wearing defiance as a cloak and they knew they were being too soft on the boy and it was time to tight things up.

"Please stop! stop! I'll be good I swear, please stop!" His nephew would sob, but her Vernon was a strong man, and knew better than to listen to the demon's plead hidden in the boy's voice, and he'd strike again.

Demons fear pain.

Harry meanwhile was running as fast as his legs would allow him, the Order had found him and they were sure to send him back.

He wasn't going to go back, he had packed all his things and left them at Mrs Figg's door with a note "I'm fine, please don't look for me, I'll be at the train on September 1st . -HP",

he had made a new life for the summer, he had got a job, a name, a friendly dog who would always follow him the first seven blocks to almost everywhere and he even had a room which made him feel all grown up every time he had to pay the rent once a week; maybe at first things hadn't gone so well and he had even thought, for an insane second, about going back but he was all right now.

Two times before had the Order found him and as many times he had managed to best them, but they were growing bolder every time, coming back in greater numbers.

This time they were many and he was one, and they had magic and he was tired, and they were grown ups and he wasn't even of age yet, and they were mad and he was scared, and they were closer and he was hurting, and they just fired.

And he just fell.

The next time he woke up was to the unwelcome familiarity of a house that was no one's home.

A temporal solution to be sure, these wards were no match to those of privet drive. Dumbledore had told him so when Harry had asked again for the chance to stay somewhere else, anywhere.

He almost told him that time, all of it, but he got tongue tied and the words eluded him.

He was ashamed of himself, of letting them do that to him, of being so weak and stupid and….

besides, he argued with himself while Dumbledore explained that he only had to stay for a fixed amount of days for the wards to build up, if he had gotten this far perhaps he could take just one more summer, he was older now, he thought, he could even maybe fight Vernon, and if he could manage a good preservative spell perhaps he could keep some food, and Dudley would be easy to outrun, he always was. It wouldn't be so bad. He could take it, he could do it!

He didn't last even a week.

And now here he was, back in Girmmauld Place.

For a long time, he just sat on the bed, feeling naughty for running away and claustrophobic at being caught.

The sun filtered through the windows out some holes in the purple curtain, filling the room with golden specs of dust. The gloomy feeling that radiated off the house didn't help his defeatist mood.

He felt like a prisoner at his ally's hand.

Inevitably the door cracked open and Professor Lupin stepped inside, ever since Sirius's death Remus had become what others would call an uncle of sorts, Harry cared for him enough to call him anything but.

He called him professor.

Potter swung his legs back and forth, sitting on the side of the bed, too ashamed to look at anything else that the tips of his socks and noticing idly that a little hole was in the making over the big toe.

He heard the sound of a chair being set into place in front of him-

He would have to stitch it up, the little hole, this were his favorite socks.

The groaning of the old chair under the professor's weight and a swirl of air that disturbed the dust—

He had a needle and some thread in his bag, it wasn't the right color but it would have to do.

"Harry"

He didn't have was his bag, thought.

He swung his legs faster, the motion bleeding frustration, his sock clad heels making a soft noise against the bed.

"Harry" a finger under his chin and he closed his eyes harder trying fiercely to just think in the needle and the little hole and the stitch and the missing bag—

"Harry, look at me" Remus wasn't yelling, but that just made it worse. He should be angry, disappointed, mad, furious beyond words but he sounded just like Remus.

Nice old Remus.

"Please?"

Feeling much like a child he opened his eyes. "-lo" he whispered but then cleared his throat and repeated higher "Hello, Professor"

Remus looked older, not because of the wrinkles or the white hair or even the set of the shoulder, but because of his eyes. His eyes looked tired, duller, darker. Harry felt even worse for running away and knew he would say yes when Remus asked him to go back, he wouldn't be a burden to Remus, he wanted Remus to like him.

He would go back. Again.

He felt an implosion in his chest and the sheer terror at the knowledge made his heart skip a beat, but when Lupin asked if he was ok he just nodded feeling betrayed and very much alone.

"Thank you Harry, it will be ok, you'll see; Albus has already spoken with your aunt and they are ready to take you back" he patted Harry's leg mistaking terrified worship with willing compliance "Good lad"

"It can't be that bad" said Tonks who had now a firm grip on Harry's arm and had added a tracking charm for good measure after Potter's second attempt at running.

Harry was too busy hard boiling his resentment to answer, but then again Tonk's wasn't waiting for any, and just kept on talking "Professor Dumbledore talked with them, I thought Remy told you, and sure they are mad, but so are we and we aren't throwing you to the wolves, now are we?"

A pause showed this time she was waiting for an answer but Harry just gave her a side along glance that the auror wouldn't learn the meaning of until later.

"Now I'm serious Harry, no more running away, ok? I know it must be hard being cut off from magic, but take it as a holidays of sort, ok? We don't have the spare men to chase after you, so I want you to promise me you'll wait here for us, a magical promise this time, Harry, ok? A binding one, all right? Now promise, promise and I shall trust you, warrior.…"

In the end Harry was bullied into such a promise. Who knew Tonks could be so sneaky?

He had felt with awed wonder as the magic closed around him, filling his nose with the sweet odd smell of very old magic, always the older the reckless, and this one seemed fit to be a true Gryffindor.

In a roundabout sense, the use of such magics were Tonk's compliment to Harry, for in the old days it was used only in those who knew better than to try and challenged it, to Harry it would grow to be an unforgiving prison binding his magic to his very core, hurting him with growing emptiness, filling him with stone-heavy despair. Leaving him bare to the care of his relatives, stealing his voice and blurring his eyes.

To Tonks they were just words and a simple promise to keep; to listen to his relatives, be good and behave.

But the spell had still a month to run his magic, and until then, Harry just felt boyish wonder at the smell, and funnily enough, trying to remember a story a fairy had once told him about a toad and a promise and a sword, some sweet berries and the long road home.

Soon they were in front of number 4, Tonks was ringing the bell and uncle Vernon answered it, his features set on stone, without a word he just pointed up the stairs with a finger.

"Mister Dudley, Hi" she started cheerfully enough but at Vernon's glare just barely finished "I'm, Tonks" with a gulp and perhaps remembering she was an Auror, she shouldered on "I'm told Professor Dumbledore owled you ahead, explaining this little misunderstanding" again she trailed off and Harry was glad he wasn't the only wizard afraid of this man.

"Upstairs with you" Were uncle Vernon's only words, gruffy with unmitigated fury. Tonks gave Harry a little pat in the shoulder right before a little shove that made Potter remember he was being left behind.

"Well, umm….see you later then Harry, and remember: you promised!" the last word Harry heard it yelled from behind the door so rudely shut by uncle Vernon.

A deep breath.

In through the nose out through the mouth.

He started the steps to his room, thinking he would lay low a few days before running away. He would go deeper this time, he wouldn't make the same mistakes, he wouldn't see other people, or make friends with anyone, he would go _really_ far and … he stopped in his tracks at the distinctive smell of burning incense. A Ritual incense.

He knew that smell.

With a mad scramble he made for the front door, calling Tonks name, but uncle Vernon caught him and it was a mighty struggle and some scratches later that he made it for the back door. He could heard Vernon yelling even if he didn't understand the words, the door wouldn't open, it wasn't locked, but it wouldn't open!

He felt it again, the faint sweet smell of magic that he would soon learn to hate. He took his wand and more afraid of his relatives than the ministry started casting hexes, spells and charms to no avail, each word hurting deeper than the last, stealing him of air until he could just barely gasp a final jinx that like the others stank of that nauseatingly sweet smell.

Aunt Petunia was next to uncle Vernon now, they where both steadily walking toward him chanting something with feverish belief. Harry closed his eyes and tried to remember the tale of the fairy, chocking back a sob at the feel of brute rough hands taking him by the arms and dragging him up the stairs, to the stuffed air of his room and the everlasting promise of darkness, hunger and pain.

As promised, an eternal month later the Order granted him his freedom. The wards weren't up to their fullest, the letter said, but they would have to make do.

They owled the date ahead but as a safety measure, failed to give the time, and since Aunt Petunia didn't want the dishonor of yet another wizard inside her house, they left Harry outside since dawn, trunk and all.

The shadow of the full moon in the sky told Harry Remus wouldn't be among the cavaliers and he was glad in a detached sort of way. He needed a bath, a meal, a full night sleep, a bed and and some time to get himself together and didn't want Remus to see him like this.

Defeated to muggles with the unknowing help of magic that they claimed were the hand of the muggle Lord.

He sat out there for hours filling his lungs with clear air for the first time in weeks, feeling exposed at being outside his room but happy at being finally free, at the same, he couldn't stop a shiver at the thought of being outside the wards…what of the spell? Would it still hold? With a frown he remembered yet again his promise to Tonks and not for the first time asked himself if she had extracted it as punishment…

The sun came and went and still not sight of the order, was this a test? He wondered

He lifted his head at the sound of steps but they stopped two houses' short of number four. Neighbors came and went on the sidewalk, some nodded their greetings but must just ignored him.

He didn't know what he would do if the order didn't show up, he wasn't going back, he was sure of _that_

but he wasn't running away either…

Finally -Finally!- They came.

From a distance he could tell them apart from muggles, just for the clothing. It wasn't anything outrageous, but if you knew what to look for it was easy to see.

Shacklebolt, Moody and someone he didn't recognize came for him walking fast and casting suspicious eyes over their shoulders

For the first time Harry thought about how would they travel, and wondered if magic would still hurt.

"Up lad, there are shadows following. Up up up." was all the greeting Moody offered and Harry felt such a sudden lightness at finally walking away from this place that he forgot all his pains and aches and as always before, simply pretended his summer hadn't happened.

As far as he cared it had just been another nightmare, that as many before, would come back to haunt him at odd times, but as none other it was one that wouldn't happen again; he would soon be of age and uncle Vernon had said they were done with him, he wasn't welcome any longer and to prove his point he had broken all the custody papers just in front of him. At the time he would have snorted at the word "welcome" but experience had taught him better. Besides, he was done with them too.

Shaking his head to untangle the spider web of thoughts, harry stood up, took his things and went with the group to the park, where they had to search for something that looked out of place and answered to the name Howland.

"Accio!" called the the third man, who had to be new to the headmasters ways.

He obviously didn't know Dumbledore style, or he would know that it wouldn't be that easy to find this Howland ….thingy.

Grumbling about idiots and his rotten luck MadEye crouched among the bushes looking for something out of place and trying his wand at completely _in_ place muggle things.

A plastic blue shovel, a girly musical rope, a broken tape, a poker card…to each and every one he spelled "replidiostyhupirum Howland" and the first few stole Harry a giggle, but after the twelfth the joke grew stale.

Meanwhile Shakelbolt kept his wand at the ready looking for shadows that lacked a body. His stance tense and wand ready.

Bored and feeling kind of useless, Harry looked around until he saw a toilet seat bright purple with yellow stars, hanging off a knotty branch on the oldest tree.

And now that _,_ he smiled, _that_ was Dumbledore's style.

"Are you planning to drown in there Potter?" a banging on the door, it wasn't the first, and as Harry was in no hurry it wouldn't be the last either "Come on Harry!, I _really_ have to go…don't make me beg" Tonks pleaded and after a tinny pause "please, I'm begging you Harry Potter, I'll give you my first born, a stripe of bacon, my share of candy and lend you my favorite quill, but please, _please_ I have to go"

"Use the one down stairs!" he yelled from inside the bathtub blowing some bubbles while doing so.

"It's haunted and you know it! please, pleeease," accusatory she added "Molly says you've been in there forever, come on I'll lend you my snuty quill a whol—"

Tonks heard some grumbling and the sound of draining water, she would have cheered had it not been so dangerous.

After a minute or two with no one coming out she understood Harry's mistaken illusion of dressing inside the bathroom.

"Oh, no you won't" she whispered to herself mad with need, louder she said "cover up, I'm coming in!" and opened the door.

In the middle of the damp old bathroom stood the boy who lived, wearing only his pajama bottom's, leaving all his new scars bare to the world; thousands of tinny scars and scabs from which the demon inside him was supposed to escape driven by his blood, prominent ribs that spoke of hunger and bruising that any sane person would recognize as abusive…

At the door stood Tonks, a hand still holding the door knob and the other firmly set over her closed eyes "Are you decent yet?"

Harry had all of two days to get ready to school. Someone had bought him his texts book, a robe, some quills and parchment. Apparently Diagon Ally wasn't safe anymore for him either.

Snape was to be this years DADA teacher and you could tell just by looking at this year's books. They were really wordy, with small lettering, very few pictures or even wand motions and…. Dark. There wasn't a way around it, they were just that, dark from the cover to the type face to the feel of it.

This was going to be a very long year.

"Is that the best you can do Mister Potter?"

"Come _on_ Harry, show him!" cheered Ron in an audible whisper, furious with Snape but taking it out on his friend.

Harry tried again, feeling the magic form up inside of him, whirling through his veins, cascading all the way down to his fingertips but stopping short of his wand

"it's a simple enough spell, mister Potter. Would you like me to call a third year to show you" said Snape, with malevolent helpfulness, walking his way around the classroom, heels slapping against stones, hand clasped behind his back, looking bored for all the world but for the unkind twirl at the edge of his mouth.

The slytherins snickered their noxious little laughs, getting in the nerves of the gryffindors, thickening the unease that permeated the classroom almost every class now.

Snape's classes were always tense. House rivalry was an almost aggressive thing this year. The outside world was going mad in fear of an imminent magical war, and inside the castle everyone was taking sides or being forced to.

"Show us a spell mister Potter, _any_ spell" sighed the professor while adding some myrrh to one of the vessels in the front.

The vessel, an ancient looking incense burner, was a new acquisition to classroom. Dumbledore's solution to override the sticky saccharine smell that stayed even after Umbridge had left, the odious stench persisted in the room itself despite the elves best efforts.

To this very day Snape was still arguing with the headmaster about a change of classroom. Tradition and convenience be damned, Severus missed his dungeons.

The instant he felt the smell, Harry forgot it all, who he was, who was with him, _where_ he was.

All of the sudden he was back in privet drive, he was back in his room, back in summer.

 _He couldn't take another summer._

His heart imploded in a thousand pieces inside his chest, he felt his body fill with energy born out of pure terror, he had to get out of there, he couldn't take another beating, he wouldn't survive another summer, he had to get out of there!

As fast as he could, he made it to the door, blind with panic, deaf to the slytherins laughter or the locking spell of the professor.

He heard steps behind him, walking slowly up to him, coming closer, bringing pain.

He didn't heard Snape making fun of him, he never listened to the words anymore, they where always the same, and if he let them, they hurt more than the belt ever did. The tone was enough. He got the whole message out of just the tone.

 _He had to get out of there._

He tried the door again making it rattle in it's hinges.

He could feel the magic running through the wood, he concentrated even harder, closing his eyes and leaning his head on the door, he could feel his own magic inside of him too, it was always there, trapped inside his skin, carving new patterns, looking for a way out. Hurting.

Only this time it wasn't trapped, and though he didn't know it, indigo sparks of magic were forming all around him, spiking up his hair, cracking up the air like static, calling on a soft storm of wind that was ruffling through the room, sailing his robes, and making students hold onto their parchments and hats.

The steps kept getting closer, faster now. Angrier. Heels against stone, each step making his heart beat faster, his thoughts grow wilder, he felt his blood run faster, his fear rise higher, his magic swelled thicker almost touchable now, pouring out of him to protect him. The wind blew harder.

He was calling on a magic storm.

"Of all the stupid things Potter! Get back in there, and cast the _bloddy_ " spell, Severus was going to say, but at the same time he took the boy by the arm ready to shook some sense into the recalcitrant brat that was so foolishly defying him class after class after class. _The nerve of him!_

Up to that point, to the contact, Potter had been at bay in his own adrenalin rush, tilting precariously between fight and flight. Two things happened at the touch.

One Harry hardened on the flight part of the deal, and two, for the second that lasted the touch before the magic hurled him seven feet back, Snape felt the raw terror that was Potter.

This was no mere teenage embarrassment at his own ineptitude, this was something else.

For the first time that day Snape didn't just look at the boy, he _saw_ him.

His eyes where hued with the same color of the magic that was cracking the air. Potter turned his head back to the door before Snape could decipher the meaning of the eyes and just as he leaned his forehead back against the door it exploded in a million splinters.

Meanwhile Harry _was seeing_ the magic. It was like a big pulsing net of energy, each color a different spell, each spell a form, a smell, even a taste. He could feel the spell keeping him in, caging him to the room with uncle Vernon. He touched it and with more resignation that any real feeling he just wished it away in a detached kind of way. He was tired. He was so very tired.

Upon feeling the first backslash "Duomodoro!" yelled Snape waving his wand in front of himself as fast as he could, casting a corporeal vault of intricate shadows to cover the screaming students and himself.

Some slivers of wood got trough before the spell took shape, but he managed to stop most of the exploding door.

It all stopped in a few seconds. Some wooden dust the only remains of an age old gate.

With a flick of his wand, Severus vanished the dome into thin air .

Potter half stumbled half ran out the classroom and Snape was right after him, leaving behind a chaos of disarray desk, parchment and stunned silence of the students.

Potter was in the corridor, leaning a one hand against the wall, the other holding his head in place, his back to the DADA room.

"What for Salazar teeth was _that_?" Snape was furious and rightly so. "Look at me when I talk to you!" Had the headmaster not frown upon it, he would had hexed Potter on the spot. " .ME!"he mas mad with fury, after that spell in there, after that….that _tantrum_!

He took the boy by a shoulder and slammed his back against the wall, the motion bleeding anger.

"What makes you think that you can cast _that_ kind of spells!? What kind of blithering idiot…" the boy would still not look at him, he seemed lost in thought, looking at his own hand but seeing beyond.

That's when the professor saw the markings for the first time. Again that same color, snaring up the boy's arm like some kind of ivy, swirling up his hands and into his sleeves, down his ears and neck and again into the robe, where he was sure to find more patterns hidden by the clothes. Wrath forgotten for the moment, he followed the lines with his eyes, he patterns nagging at his curiosity, teasing him with some out of reach knowledge. He've _seen_ this before, or heard of it, or read about it or…

He took one of the boy arms, needing to see more of the lines. The first touch startled them both. Something audibly cracked in the air and Snape felt the hair of the back of his neck standing on end. Severus rolled up Potter's sleeves, but the lines were simply disappearing.

Harry meanwhile was caught up in some sort of shock of his own, that was the first time he's done magic ever since they…. Ever since summer. It felt….weird. Different, somehow. "I saw…" he started to say trying to explain the door and the wards, and the net, but stopped himself before saying too much. He doesn't know what he saw, he saw something, he felt something. Suddenly he remembered where he was, and whom with, and felt himself getting all over red pipe hot out of embarrassment.

"Those lines" says Snape hardening his voice. "what spell did you cast" It looks like dark magic, nothing else leaves such marks in the body nor is so destructive. He turns Potter's arm back and forth looking for the lines that are gone. "Where did you find that spell?" he repeats the same looking process in the other arm and again there are no marks except…

He takes Potter's right hand seeing some sort of lines, not indigo this time, but white. He passes a thumb over the lines, and like a seesaw of emotions, again the winds are out his sails.

"What's this?" He asked, not angry anymore, just tired. They had all thought the rumors about the blood quill where false, something grossly exaggerated by the students.

"Why didn't you say?!" he's bone deep tired.

"Minerva would have" he doesn't get much further. The boy's hand's slipping off his grasp not fighting his touch, simply slipping boneless. The brat passing out. Had the student been awake he would have berated him his stupidity until his teeth ratted. But earing the voices of the sixth years, heads peaking out his doorless classroom he just casted a spell to keep him from hitting the floor and called on an elf to let Madam Pomfrey he's on the way. He should have told the creature to call Dumbledore as well he thinks while going through the motions, but knowing the headmaster he would provably be there if he is needed.

End notes:

This is nos a betaed story, and so, any and all the many mistakes you've found are all mine. I'll appreciate all corrections.

Reviews are also welcomed, and very much loved. Make my day, let me know what you thought of this fic.


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